Today was amped with desire to make an appearance at the Lincoln Center Rubenstein Atrium for a free admission performance, featuring a musical tribute to Jazz greats Count Basie, Billie Holiday, and Duke Ellington.
I worked through my lunch break today to catch an early train. I shuffled out of the office with enough time to briskly walk down to the station - MTA broadcast across the overhead monitor - "4:36 PM train to Penn Station CANCELLED". I did my best to curb my visible annoyance, I sweated out the pits of my sweater to make a train that wasn't going to be there for another 30 minutes.. so let's make the best of it with a slice and a couple garlic knots at Gino's Pizza down the block, I said to myself.
The train pulls in on time, a stern and bothered crowd of people exit from each car, perhaps caught up in the delay that halted our commute as well. I board and put in my earbuds for music, and no sooner than putting my hands down, the conductor comes up on the loudspeaker to announce we are being held at the station due to a train breaking down a few stops ahead. Great, now the late train is going to be LATE-ER. I wedge my ticket in the cushion of the seat in front of me for the conductor to punch, so I can close my eyes without be bothered about it and sleep off the intense impatience starting to overpower me.
From behind closed eyes, I can hear the groups of travelers silently groaning, cold and tired from standing on the platform for so long most likely, boarding the train and trying to find a seat. The conductor chimes in a few more times as we sit, for another extended stint as we got closer to our final stopping point at Penn Station, to apologize for the delays.. many trains were delayed, cancelled, or combined to accommodate travelers - blah blah blah, I say - because what should have been a 40 minute trip became almost 2 hours.
I have it set in my mind as I take the stairs up from the platform to the subway, that there will be no more seats in the auditorium and that all the tickets will be gone.. so what's the use in even going... then - SNAP! - the strap from my purse snaps loose, and the loads swings like pendulum into the face of a passenger directly behind me, who calmly grabbed and passed it ahead to me. UGH.... the breaking point is slowly, gradually... QUICKLY, approaching. Emotionally, somehow, and physically, from the tense rush of anxiety of being delayed for so long but doing everything on my end that I was supposed to do to make things go right, I just couldn't even bring myself to travel uptown and arrive at the venue to find out -"Sorry, we have no more seats.. we're sold out completely" - so, I turned the other way and caught a train Downtown toward my apartment to mope, be angry, feel sorry that I didn't at least try to go in and see if there were seats left.
The Downtown A train was closing its doors, but I managed to squeeze in, which forced my hand to accidentally grab onto the shoulder of a stranger standing right in the doorway, which I immediately apologized for, and as I turn my head to the middle aisle directly in front of me, a seated man dressed in all black and fingerless gloves was furiously, but gorgeously playing, Bach Cello Suite No. 1 Prelude... the entire "everything" just stopped - I was enraptured.*
The steadfast failure of today came into fruition as I watched this cellist play those strings with his eyes closed, making gestures to stand and allow passengers to exit and enter at each stop, not speak, only play, and not interfere with any boast of talent, or a plea to help alleviate some kind of financial woe, not even pass his hat between crowds to suggest wanting anything - just to listen, and pass a dollar forward at will.
In my heart, I know that there were circumstances today that were not within my control. I couldn't fix the train, or prevent my bag from breaking, but I made the choice to turn away from Lincoln Center, and seek ill thoughts toward the immediate society that had wronged me.. but somehow the universe sought it fit to bring me to the one subway car that had something extraordinary to amend it all, and I felt like I needed to make peace with how terrible I was feeling - so I opposed it by opening my wallet, and giving the four or five dollars I had in it, with a "thank you" directly to him.
Out of a cloudy shit-storm of a situation, I got to trace out the silver-lining from a spontaneous, free-admission, 7-minute "mini-concert", and found a way to express gratitude rather than stay repose in bitterness from a series of events I had no control over - I took control of myself. And in reality, that's all we can really do. Right?
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
Meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
- Rumi
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, May 25, 2012
Pleasure, and Purpose.
Written last night, at around 1:30am:
WELL, I just returned home from a brief bout at a nightclub, which was followed by a swift car-chase with an assumed drunk driver falling asleep at the wheel. Uh hmmmm, allow me to back up...
I am in the throws of planning an extraordinary two-part celebration of my 27th birthday this year, and I am in the green to go out and find some new, fun, and all around the board INCREDIBLE place to spend it with the select few that I wish. One of these places in consideration was a local nightclub called Sugar, no more than 15 minutes from my house off of the parkway. I got home from work at 11:30PM, I threw together my outfit which I mentally assembled beforehand, mascara, eyeliner, a touch of blush, and I was out the door.
Now, typically, the club scene isn't very much my cup of tea, but every now and then I can get inspired to be free on the dance floor and have a good time with the right sort of people around me. But knowing me, I should've known how 20 minutes from stepping out of my car and into the front door, I'd be right back out in the parking lot scrambling for my car key.
Darkness, alcohol, neon lights, and loud music are the elements that bring out the flashy egos that can't exist anywhere else in society but in places like here. The shorter your skirt, the tighter your collared shirt, the higher up you are dancing on a lounge table, the more you drink, and the more people you're with, the better everyone else will see you. Because if you're not out at a club to be with the people you came to have a good time with, it's all about 1) Who you're with, 2) What you're wearing, 3) What you're doing, and 4) How you're doing it.
I was pushed passed by more people than I could even count, and mostly by men which surprised me very much. It wasn't so much that crowd control was an issue, as much as they were looking over me and through me at wherever it was they needed to get to. Somehow I thought that a pretty girl out on her own wearing a nice outfit would be a pickin' for some talking to, but I found instead it was the girls that dance up on pedestals kissing one another other in front of an audience (that's recording them on their iphones, by the way), or girls in sequined mini skirts with hand-ripped boyfriend tee's and clearly exposed cleavage that aren't invisible. OBVIOUSLY.
So I B-lined it for the door and started heading home, and I came to a stretch of road on Main Street that's under major construction which leads to the block I live on. Stadium lights, traffic cones, big and small machinery, guys running around in vests... it's a mess. But not enough of a mess for any sized passenger or public transportation vehicle to consecutively hit 3, 4, 5, 6 cones in a row with NOTHING else around them to affect their maneuvering capabilities. And that's when I sensed something was up with the driver that was in front of me..
Workers up the road were grabbing at their walkies and one of them finally managed to pull the guy to a stop, and though I couldn't hear, I could tell the worker was trying to communicate with the guy about why he was driving the way he was. The man pulled away after a short while, and I immediately pulled up to the worker and asked if the guy was alright. "He's so totally drunk and is falling asleep at the wheel.. I tried to get him to pull over to the side of the road but he took off." And bam - next thing you know I'm pursing a dark blue, mid-size sedan with a loose muffler dragging beneath the body and a messed up driver who's passing other drivers and going through traffic lights. He turned, I turned. He switched lanes, I switched lanes. And all the while I'm scrambling in my glove compartment for a pen and notepad to grab that license plate number... yes, I was going to call the police. The driver took a right onto a major highway on a red light, and I followed with my eyes as he suddenly made a wide U-turn right in the MIDDLE of the highway and cut another right at a light on the other side! I couldn't wait to find a piece of paper any longer, and now I'm endangering myself by how I'M driving, so I just called 911 and gave a brief recount of what happened on Main Street, about the worker that tried to talk him out of continuing driving, how he's driving recklessly and is heading southbound on the so-named street, and as detailed a description of the car as I could without the particular make, model, or license plate number. The officer on call thanked me, and assured they'd do their best to keep an eye out. I also made a point to return to that worker on Main Street to let him know 911 was called, and pleaded for him and his crew to be safe. He wished me the same, and we parted ways.
Written today, approximately 14 hours later:
What do the choices that we make say about who we are? Does my opinion about a nightclub mean that I'm a stick in the mud, a prude, judgmental, and also really mature beyond my years? To a certain extent, yea. Or does my action of trailing a drunk driver to seek aid for him and the other men and women on the road show that I'm brave, aware, strong-willed, and compassionate? Perhaps.
I may not find pleasure in some things that other people are, but I find I have a LOT more purpose than most.
How about you.. ?
WELL, I just returned home from a brief bout at a nightclub, which was followed by a swift car-chase with an assumed drunk driver falling asleep at the wheel. Uh hmmmm, allow me to back up...
I am in the throws of planning an extraordinary two-part celebration of my 27th birthday this year, and I am in the green to go out and find some new, fun, and all around the board INCREDIBLE place to spend it with the select few that I wish. One of these places in consideration was a local nightclub called Sugar, no more than 15 minutes from my house off of the parkway. I got home from work at 11:30PM, I threw together my outfit which I mentally assembled beforehand, mascara, eyeliner, a touch of blush, and I was out the door.
Now, typically, the club scene isn't very much my cup of tea, but every now and then I can get inspired to be free on the dance floor and have a good time with the right sort of people around me. But knowing me, I should've known how 20 minutes from stepping out of my car and into the front door, I'd be right back out in the parking lot scrambling for my car key.
Darkness, alcohol, neon lights, and loud music are the elements that bring out the flashy egos that can't exist anywhere else in society but in places like here. The shorter your skirt, the tighter your collared shirt, the higher up you are dancing on a lounge table, the more you drink, and the more people you're with, the better everyone else will see you. Because if you're not out at a club to be with the people you came to have a good time with, it's all about 1) Who you're with, 2) What you're wearing, 3) What you're doing, and 4) How you're doing it.
I was pushed passed by more people than I could even count, and mostly by men which surprised me very much. It wasn't so much that crowd control was an issue, as much as they were looking over me and through me at wherever it was they needed to get to. Somehow I thought that a pretty girl out on her own wearing a nice outfit would be a pickin' for some talking to, but I found instead it was the girls that dance up on pedestals kissing one another other in front of an audience (that's recording them on their iphones, by the way), or girls in sequined mini skirts with hand-ripped boyfriend tee's and clearly exposed cleavage that aren't invisible. OBVIOUSLY.
So I B-lined it for the door and started heading home, and I came to a stretch of road on Main Street that's under major construction which leads to the block I live on. Stadium lights, traffic cones, big and small machinery, guys running around in vests... it's a mess. But not enough of a mess for any sized passenger or public transportation vehicle to consecutively hit 3, 4, 5, 6 cones in a row with NOTHING else around them to affect their maneuvering capabilities. And that's when I sensed something was up with the driver that was in front of me..
Workers up the road were grabbing at their walkies and one of them finally managed to pull the guy to a stop, and though I couldn't hear, I could tell the worker was trying to communicate with the guy about why he was driving the way he was. The man pulled away after a short while, and I immediately pulled up to the worker and asked if the guy was alright. "He's so totally drunk and is falling asleep at the wheel.. I tried to get him to pull over to the side of the road but he took off." And bam - next thing you know I'm pursing a dark blue, mid-size sedan with a loose muffler dragging beneath the body and a messed up driver who's passing other drivers and going through traffic lights. He turned, I turned. He switched lanes, I switched lanes. And all the while I'm scrambling in my glove compartment for a pen and notepad to grab that license plate number... yes, I was going to call the police. The driver took a right onto a major highway on a red light, and I followed with my eyes as he suddenly made a wide U-turn right in the MIDDLE of the highway and cut another right at a light on the other side! I couldn't wait to find a piece of paper any longer, and now I'm endangering myself by how I'M driving, so I just called 911 and gave a brief recount of what happened on Main Street, about the worker that tried to talk him out of continuing driving, how he's driving recklessly and is heading southbound on the so-named street, and as detailed a description of the car as I could without the particular make, model, or license plate number. The officer on call thanked me, and assured they'd do their best to keep an eye out. I also made a point to return to that worker on Main Street to let him know 911 was called, and pleaded for him and his crew to be safe. He wished me the same, and we parted ways.
Written today, approximately 14 hours later:
What do the choices that we make say about who we are? Does my opinion about a nightclub mean that I'm a stick in the mud, a prude, judgmental, and also really mature beyond my years? To a certain extent, yea. Or does my action of trailing a drunk driver to seek aid for him and the other men and women on the road show that I'm brave, aware, strong-willed, and compassionate? Perhaps.
I may not find pleasure in some things that other people are, but I find I have a LOT more purpose than most.
How about you.. ?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
A Spark, in the makings of a small Flame.
Who knew that a job interview could inspire you to want to work somewhere else??
Huh.
I went for an interview with a Long Island based company this morning for a job title that I could see myself being head over heels in lust with - an Event Coordinator. Between all the themed holiday parties, a baby shower, and retirement party that I have under my belt thus far (not to mention my fake wedding that I've already started assembling), how PERFECT would that title be for me? And to go even further, the position being offered was entry level with PAID training..... *enter drool sequence*
What I soon found out wasn't a complete nightmare, but things weren't as they seemed.. or rather, as I had expected. Pretty much, this was a marketing/sales influenced situation. Neither of which I have experience in nor a real desire to pursue off-hand. After speaking with this particular site's manager, I left feeling unusually defeated. I was approached with questions that involved me having to explain myself professionally and personally, in terms of like Where do you see yourself in 5 years? What sort of goals do you have for yourself? To my sudden discovery: I had no idea, and a really bad answer. I said:
Huh.
I went for an interview with a Long Island based company this morning for a job title that I could see myself being head over heels in lust with - an Event Coordinator. Between all the themed holiday parties, a baby shower, and retirement party that I have under my belt thus far (not to mention my fake wedding that I've already started assembling), how PERFECT would that title be for me? And to go even further, the position being offered was entry level with PAID training..... *enter drool sequence*
What I soon found out wasn't a complete nightmare, but things weren't as they seemed.. or rather, as I had expected. Pretty much, this was a marketing/sales influenced situation. Neither of which I have experience in nor a real desire to pursue off-hand. After speaking with this particular site's manager, I left feeling unusually defeated. I was approached with questions that involved me having to explain myself professionally and personally, in terms of like Where do you see yourself in 5 years? What sort of goals do you have for yourself? To my sudden discovery: I had no idea, and a really bad answer. I said:
I can't set long term goals for myself.
To a potential EMPLOYER I said that. For me personally, the interview went sort of hodge-podge and on a more or less downhill decline from there. My mind was blurred. My thinking was delayed. My answers were supposedly contradicting themselves. And worse more, I began doubting myself. To the credit of the manager interviewing me, she saw that perhaps this position wasn't what I was looking for, but that if I were interested in coming back in for a field trial, she'd consider me for spending part of a day with a training manager out on a job with actual clients, and perhaps then I could see if this is indeed something I'm looking to do or not.
I went to the grocery store afterward and wandered around in a daze.. couldn't focus. I couldn't get those questions she asked me out of my head. I have no goals... I have no long-term plans... WHAT??? And while in some respect that's ok, in another, more rational and realistic respect, I have responsibilities and finances to deal with and therefore MUST have a job. But doing what? Again, I really, really don't know..
Driving on the highway with my groceries in back, a New York Blood Center truck with an "emergency transport" sign on the side glides by me.. and this brought me back to what I initially took a leave off from working at the Met to do. I left because I wanted to be in a position that was more people oriented, where I could be helpful and creative, and that benefits a good cause. That's why I support organizations like the ASPCA, WFUV, a public funded radio station that plays and supports independent musicians, and yes, the New York Blood Center.
An inspiring spark..
A new goal in a shorter term of extended time: Pursuing a good-will organization via volunteer work. It's a start...
When "Go for it" seems to be the only option, how can I fail?
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Little Buddha.
January 1st 2012, I drove to the Garrison Institute in upstate New York to sleep, eat, and meditate about Buddha. I knew nothing of the man or the practice of Buddhist meditation.
For seven days, I was in silence. I ate strictly vegetarian everyday. No heavy reading, very little writing, and hiked regularly.
I found that after the third day, I was having some problems with sitting for prolonged amounts of time. Being sociable is my nature and an apparent habit that weakened me and distracted me from the focus on "self" that this retreat was geared toward. I had very few options - either I force myself to bear the 15-hour days of sanskrit chanting, wall-gazing, and talks of a foreign religion. Or, I find a way to modify this bizarre experience into something wonderful in its own right, and even further - maintain my sanity. I chose the second option. By day I obeyed the rules of that place.. I ate all my food, made sure my bare feet stayed hidden in the presence of our holy teacher, sat still during guided meditation with our teacher - Lama Surya Das, and switched off all my lights when not in my bedroom.. even at night. By afternoon and evening, I was WILD.. in my hat, with wool scarf and walking stick, I trekked for hours outdoors to shake the misconceptions of this religious practice and the anxieties of what I should be doing here that were eating away at my nerves. Never have I owned a "nervous tick", nor rocked back and forth in a chair with, uncontrolled, untraceable thoughts running rampant in my mind. I would shake trying to sit still sometimes. It was clearly getting bad.
So my remedy was: "I have to run...."
I worked out the frenzy and burned it off as energy that immediately inspired me to bring along my camera and notebook to, at least partially, record my journey. My hat had wolf ears to assist the "transformation".. and I would leap upon fallen trees and survey the wooded, deciduous terrain. The trickling little creeks would pass along me as we both ran down the incline. My eyes grew bigger, my breath drew deeper into my chest, my legs carried me over, and under, in between, and back over again. My head was clear. My body was clean. My heart was full.... I had done it. My transformation was taking over and my worried thoughts of anything having to do with this place had evaporated.
What inspired me to go forward and do this retreat in the first place was following up to my change. I had recently left my job and was looking for a new beginning, and words like "Winter Renewal", "yoga", "vegetarian", "Hudson River", and "Buddhism" all sounded like 'this is place I ought to be'. But I had never met Buddha before. Nor noble silence. Or ideas like "this world is an illusion". Every possible preconception that I had of this place or of the experience being light or easy was quickly being disregarded with instant heaviness. What's everyone else doing? What was I doing? What does this mean? How can that be true? Why do I feel as though I'm "sinning", clearly a Christianity concept in this Buddhist sanctuary? It had all become too much, and my only method of self-medicating my conflicts and confusion was to have the ground pounding beneath my feet and my heart thumping within my chest. I was truly happy in this way, and half the time I didn't really know why. "Loosing yourself and finding your true self," our teacher replied one day.Was I escaping or hiding? No... I was uncovering, I later found out, because I've never considered myself an avid outdoorsy person. But here I am, scaling tree limbs and laying down in the top arms of trees, in complete peace. As I was, coming into a place that I had no previous connection to or understanding of, is justifiable for the way things seemed to unravel. To be outside, I had to go inside and recognize that I'm not like those people in there. Though certainly they are good people traveling on a certain similar path, mine is this one.
This writing is dated January 4th 2011 in my journal. The one and only time I picked up a pen to write while there. A means of marking my defiance in a way, and expressing how at the time, sitting still and breathing logically couldn't get me anywhere:
I myself am so small
to be inside inside
I must be outside
to grow and elevate,
to see my breath,
to cast out impurities from my skin.
I run, and make small flights above the ground;
I am fast.
I climb, and stretch my arms long like tree branches;
I am strong.
I jump, and land off-road in deep ditches and onto high rock;
I am brave.
I step, and place my feet on paths off of the living green;
I am kind.
I sit, and listen to the water, now passing me by;
I am patient.
The energy I create is now filling this place.
I am not so small anymore...
My eyes, my legs, my chest expand;
This is my outside outside.
My mind exhilarates, my heart rejoices;
This is my inside outside.
In a non-conventional way, I'd say I found myself. Everyone's means of getting to where they want to be or ought to be in life is completely individual. I don't regret having gone off and made this retreat experience my own. It felt right for me. And in speaking with other retreatants on the eve of our last day, I was actually commended for just making it there in the first place, considering my background as Roman Catholic and having never meditated in this extreme measure before.
There's a "little buddha" in each of us, I was taught and the path to Enlightenment is in finding the buddha in you... not an ancient man, not Asian, not a statue, as we think of commonly think of Buddha... but the goddess or god within you, which is in turn your higher Self.**
"There's no pot of gold at the end; it's golden all the way..."
- Lama Surya Das, January 2012
For seven days, I was in silence. I ate strictly vegetarian everyday. No heavy reading, very little writing, and hiked regularly.
I found that after the third day, I was having some problems with sitting for prolonged amounts of time. Being sociable is my nature and an apparent habit that weakened me and distracted me from the focus on "self" that this retreat was geared toward. I had very few options - either I force myself to bear the 15-hour days of sanskrit chanting, wall-gazing, and talks of a foreign religion. Or, I find a way to modify this bizarre experience into something wonderful in its own right, and even further - maintain my sanity. I chose the second option. By day I obeyed the rules of that place.. I ate all my food, made sure my bare feet stayed hidden in the presence of our holy teacher, sat still during guided meditation with our teacher - Lama Surya Das, and switched off all my lights when not in my bedroom.. even at night. By afternoon and evening, I was WILD.. in my hat, with wool scarf and walking stick, I trekked for hours outdoors to shake the misconceptions of this religious practice and the anxieties of what I should be doing here that were eating away at my nerves. Never have I owned a "nervous tick", nor rocked back and forth in a chair with, uncontrolled, untraceable thoughts running rampant in my mind. I would shake trying to sit still sometimes. It was clearly getting bad.
So my remedy was: "I have to run...."
I worked out the frenzy and burned it off as energy that immediately inspired me to bring along my camera and notebook to, at least partially, record my journey. My hat had wolf ears to assist the "transformation".. and I would leap upon fallen trees and survey the wooded, deciduous terrain. The trickling little creeks would pass along me as we both ran down the incline. My eyes grew bigger, my breath drew deeper into my chest, my legs carried me over, and under, in between, and back over again. My head was clear. My body was clean. My heart was full.... I had done it. My transformation was taking over and my worried thoughts of anything having to do with this place had evaporated.
What inspired me to go forward and do this retreat in the first place was following up to my change. I had recently left my job and was looking for a new beginning, and words like "Winter Renewal", "yoga", "vegetarian", "Hudson River", and "Buddhism" all sounded like 'this is place I ought to be'. But I had never met Buddha before. Nor noble silence. Or ideas like "this world is an illusion". Every possible preconception that I had of this place or of the experience being light or easy was quickly being disregarded with instant heaviness. What's everyone else doing? What was I doing? What does this mean? How can that be true? Why do I feel as though I'm "sinning", clearly a Christianity concept in this Buddhist sanctuary? It had all become too much, and my only method of self-medicating my conflicts and confusion was to have the ground pounding beneath my feet and my heart thumping within my chest. I was truly happy in this way, and half the time I didn't really know why. "Loosing yourself and finding your true self," our teacher replied one day.Was I escaping or hiding? No... I was uncovering, I later found out, because I've never considered myself an avid outdoorsy person. But here I am, scaling tree limbs and laying down in the top arms of trees, in complete peace. As I was, coming into a place that I had no previous connection to or understanding of, is justifiable for the way things seemed to unravel. To be outside, I had to go inside and recognize that I'm not like those people in there. Though certainly they are good people traveling on a certain similar path, mine is this one.
This writing is dated January 4th 2011 in my journal. The one and only time I picked up a pen to write while there. A means of marking my defiance in a way, and expressing how at the time, sitting still and breathing logically couldn't get me anywhere:
I myself am so small
to be inside inside
I must be outside
to grow and elevate,
to see my breath,
to cast out impurities from my skin.
I run, and make small flights above the ground;
I am fast.
I climb, and stretch my arms long like tree branches;
I am strong.
I jump, and land off-road in deep ditches and onto high rock;
I am brave.
I step, and place my feet on paths off of the living green;
I am kind.
I sit, and listen to the water, now passing me by;
I am patient.
The energy I create is now filling this place.
I am not so small anymore...
My eyes, my legs, my chest expand;
This is my outside outside.
My mind exhilarates, my heart rejoices;
This is my inside outside.
In a non-conventional way, I'd say I found myself. Everyone's means of getting to where they want to be or ought to be in life is completely individual. I don't regret having gone off and made this retreat experience my own. It felt right for me. And in speaking with other retreatants on the eve of our last day, I was actually commended for just making it there in the first place, considering my background as Roman Catholic and having never meditated in this extreme measure before.
There's a "little buddha" in each of us, I was taught and the path to Enlightenment is in finding the buddha in you... not an ancient man, not Asian, not a statue, as we think of commonly think of Buddha... but the goddess or god within you, which is in turn your higher Self.**
"There's no pot of gold at the end; it's golden all the way..."
- Lama Surya Das, January 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
One woman's trash is STILL the one woman's treasure
[ A repost from my "Around and About" blog, dated December 19, 2011 ]
Yesterday afternoon I had a yard sale in my driveway.
I cleaned out my room this Fall, found that I own WAY too many things, and figured I could one day just sell it or give it away. That ONE day became one month, then two months, and three months.. and finally, one bitter mid December day I decided: YES! TODAY will be that one day!
I was an avid collector of Vogue magazines at one point in High School and an antique book hoarder, so there was an entire box full of that stuff. I used to buy dresses that didn't fit, shoes that were too big, and jewel cases for cds that I burned, but now I dress smarter and have an ipod - so there was a whole other box of THAT stuff. Old dolls from when I was a kid, jewelry that I purchased for single use occasions, gifts I received that I didn't use/like/need, an assortment of ornate Asian table pieces, and a bag of old phone charges and odd wires that I accumulated over the years. This was pretty much the scheme of my yard sale tabletop.
I discovered a few things after dealing with my first customer:
#1 People don't want to pay a lot for anything.
#2 It's prime Christmas gift buying time... so people want to pay even LESS.
#3 Finding a flaw on any piece of merchandise, anywhere in the world, substantiates an automatic discount.
My first customer walked away with two mint condition, silver (I dare not say the brand name) watches for four dollars, because "Isn't the premise of a yard sale to get rid of your "junk" for a reasonable to minimal price?", I said to myself, convincingly.
My next customer walked away with a four drawer jewelry box, a small floral jewelry box, a silver brooch necklace, and one other item I can't remember for seven dollars, which SHOULD have been eight, but the woman was a dollar short and I had no change for a twenty. Now this time, I felt like I was robbed; by me. I couldn't attempt convincing myself this time. I literally gave away some really valuable things, both in a monetary and sentimental sense, for close to NOTHING that they were actually worth.
The next few passer bys either gazed over all my things and snuffed at the ridiculously inexpensive price, perhaps wishing I'd go lower, and walked away... or pulled over in their car and rolled by like a snail while looking at everything on the table, with not even a wave or an acknowledgement to the seller - ME - then picking up and driving off.
About two hours into the yard sale's start time, everything died down. No more customers, not even a lot of general traffic was passing by. Granted it was cold and it was a Sunday, I still held out hope for someone that would see my table as being worth more than three dollars an item. Had I given in to my original price setting, I certainly wouldn't have had a single customer...
My mother believes that it was the cold weather. Had it been the proper season for a yard sale, I would have been cleaned out. Another thing my mother said was: Typically, the sort of stuff that people sell are considered junk; your stuff isn't junk.
In the end, I closed shop early and said 'screw you' to the remaining two hours that I advertised being available for. It was too cold and I was getting too touchy about people judging and taking my things. I do have some pretty decent things in very good condition, and I wasn't going to sell them, or myself, short, just to save some space in my garage. I'm sure I can find people that would appreciate a gift or donation from my collection.
A note for my future self: Let's splurge on a delicious, expensive dinner or a luxurious hotel with an amazing buffet-style breakfast every now and again... no more spending money on stuff that causes clutter and self-loathing.
I cleaned out my room this Fall, found that I own WAY too many things, and figured I could one day just sell it or give it away. That ONE day became one month, then two months, and three months.. and finally, one bitter mid December day I decided: YES! TODAY will be that one day!
I was an avid collector of Vogue magazines at one point in High School and an antique book hoarder, so there was an entire box full of that stuff. I used to buy dresses that didn't fit, shoes that were too big, and jewel cases for cds that I burned, but now I dress smarter and have an ipod - so there was a whole other box of THAT stuff. Old dolls from when I was a kid, jewelry that I purchased for single use occasions, gifts I received that I didn't use/like/need, an assortment of ornate Asian table pieces, and a bag of old phone charges and odd wires that I accumulated over the years. This was pretty much the scheme of my yard sale tabletop.
I discovered a few things after dealing with my first customer:
#1 People don't want to pay a lot for anything.
#2 It's prime Christmas gift buying time... so people want to pay even LESS.
#3 Finding a flaw on any piece of merchandise, anywhere in the world, substantiates an automatic discount.
My first customer walked away with two mint condition, silver (I dare not say the brand name) watches for four dollars, because "Isn't the premise of a yard sale to get rid of your "junk" for a reasonable to minimal price?", I said to myself, convincingly.
My next customer walked away with a four drawer jewelry box, a small floral jewelry box, a silver brooch necklace, and one other item I can't remember for seven dollars, which SHOULD have been eight, but the woman was a dollar short and I had no change for a twenty. Now this time, I felt like I was robbed; by me. I couldn't attempt convincing myself this time. I literally gave away some really valuable things, both in a monetary and sentimental sense, for close to NOTHING that they were actually worth.
The next few passer bys either gazed over all my things and snuffed at the ridiculously inexpensive price, perhaps wishing I'd go lower, and walked away... or pulled over in their car and rolled by like a snail while looking at everything on the table, with not even a wave or an acknowledgement to the seller - ME - then picking up and driving off.
About two hours into the yard sale's start time, everything died down. No more customers, not even a lot of general traffic was passing by. Granted it was cold and it was a Sunday, I still held out hope for someone that would see my table as being worth more than three dollars an item. Had I given in to my original price setting, I certainly wouldn't have had a single customer...
My mother believes that it was the cold weather. Had it been the proper season for a yard sale, I would have been cleaned out. Another thing my mother said was: Typically, the sort of stuff that people sell are considered junk; your stuff isn't junk.
In the end, I closed shop early and said 'screw you' to the remaining two hours that I advertised being available for. It was too cold and I was getting too touchy about people judging and taking my things. I do have some pretty decent things in very good condition, and I wasn't going to sell them, or myself, short, just to save some space in my garage. I'm sure I can find people that would appreciate a gift or donation from my collection.
A note for my future self: Let's splurge on a delicious, expensive dinner or a luxurious hotel with an amazing buffet-style breakfast every now and again... no more spending money on stuff that causes clutter and self-loathing.
Sweet and Sour Soup
[ A repost from my "Around and About" blog, dated December 12 2011 ]
Anyway, I had a doctor's visit earlier this evening for something unrelated to my throat, but decided to grab a bite first.. also because I was over an hour early and had time to kill. I went to this little spot in New Hyde Park called Benjy's, and it's Kosher Pizza, Falafel, and Sushi. Quite the mix of flavors there, but I can't deny by how fresh they make they're stuff that there would be any complaints from anyone.
I ordered a half falafel sandwich with hummus, tahini, salad, and a side of fries from a handsome young Jewish man, and we sparked a small conversation which led to him having me try their homemade hot sauce. Hot sauce...?
"Is it like really spicy?"
"No, no, not at all.."
I don't eat hot sauce. But he was cute and I didn't want to be rude so I agreed. What he gave me in a little paper cup looked very, well, green, and what entered my mouth felt more like red hot open flames. Later on I'd find jalapenos, coriander, cumin, and garlic are the ingredients.. yeowch.
I sat to eat my food, and I was told that I didn't have to pay until after I was done. Fair enough. Another Jewish gentleman came from the back, most definitely the owner, and said hello. I apologized for the rasp of my voice, to which he said:
"A woman that can't talk is a GOOD thing!"
He was definitely.. well, at least PARTIALLY.. joking, and I retorted something like "Not EVERYONE thinks that's a good thing", speaking about myself, then he sat at the table across from me. We continued to talk as I dined. We talked about conflicts in communication between men and women.. how the stresses of everyday life are turning men and women into frustrated, short tempered parents and spouses.. why people are unhappy.. and finally, how uncomplicated things used to be: You get a job, you keep the job, you make the money, come home, and everything's smooth.. but it's not so anymore.
I was offered a bowl of soup at this point - Sweet an Sour - just made by the cook, and thinking back now I'm realizing that it was likely made just for all the workers behind the counter taking a break, including the young Jewish man who said it could help with my throat and who ALSO made me the offer, because they were ALL eating it. One guy leaving his shift was given a small plastic container with a lid so he could drink it on the bus ride home. Again, I agreed and took his offer. And AGAIN, there were hot SPICES in it! Crushed red peppers this time. My god, is there like a prank going on here...?? (I won't deny, though, the soup was pretty good and did soothe the rasp a bit.)
The cook came out and the guys working teased how "It's tasted better... what's missing?", "Does it need more vinegar?" "You did something different.. any pepper?" I laughed and confessed to the cook how DEEELICIOUS it was, and the slightly sour look on his face from all the playful criticism of the others turned into this wicked little smirk because NOW I was on HIS side! We all laughed some more, and when I was done, the cook swiftly but graciously took my bowl to wash in the kitchen, thanking me again for the compliment.
The time on my phone read it was time to go and the young Jewish man (who I asked and found his name was Nathan) rang me up at the register. The price didn't reflect the bowl of soup he brought me, I noticed... and all I could do was thank him. If it weren't for the silver band on his finger I would've given him my card. Maybe.
So really, why was I surprised that ANY of this would have happened to ME in a place like a Kosher pizzeria, that is known for their cheese fries, has a sushi bar, and makes homemade HOT SAUCE..??
Damn I can't wait to go back...**
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